Beneath an Old World Flag-The 40th Hunger Games SYOT
by RenderUntoCaesar
Summary: This year, the head gamemaker has something unusual planned. An arena built on the grave of Old America. With a reconstructed pre-Panem city, and an ancient military base holding a deadly secret, this year's games are going to be truly unforgettable. Who will wake America? Open SYOT
1. Prologue

**A/N: I've always had this idea for a SYOT and really wanted to try it out, so here I go. Hopefully it will be fun to read. I plan to do all the reapings in one chapter from the perspective of the head gamemaker so I don't spend ages on the reaping. So please tell me what you think and send some tributes my way.**

They found the military base far to the North of the Capitol, in a lush green meadow full of beautiful flowers. Enclosed by high grey walls topped with rusting razor wire, it looked out of place, almost alien next to the rich colours of its surroundings.

A long time ago, the base must have been impenetrable fortress, with guard towers placed at even intervals along its thick concrete wall, and gun emplacements everywhere; it could have held out against an army. But no longer.

It now lay in ruins, with its heavy steel gates rusting on their hinges, and its once mighty wall overgrown with vines. In several places, segments of the wall had utterly disintegrated, leaving nothing but piles of rubble and gaping holes. The buildings inside the compound had fared better, however, with many of them still standing despite being exposed to the elements.

There were wooden sheds with curved roofs that had once at one time or another been used to house soldiers. There was an old airstrip, lined by hangers filled with the remains of fighter jets. Dotted throughout the base were many rusting radio towers, their wires long since snapped and broken and their silver paint flaking away.

In the middle of the compound was a command centre set apart from the other buildings, an ugly square thing with peeling green paint and dirty windows. From its top floor, it provided a commanding view over the vast expanse of the surrounding base.

A strange flag fluttered at the top of the command building; one that had not been seen in over a thousand years. The flag of America. The old world symbol had defied the wars, the disasters, all the tragedies that tore the world apart and continued its lonely vigil over the ruins.

The stars and stripes carried a reminder that the old world was not truly dead.

Perhaps it is was because of this head gamemaker Lothaire Karling planned to use the base as the location of the 40th Hunger Games. From a young age he had been deeply interested with old world history, spending his time pouring over ancient books and obsessively collecting relics of the past.

Now, as he stood staring up at the flag, it was as if everything he had read about had come to life. The minute his men had told him about the base, he knew he had to see it with his own eyes. It was too good an opportunity to miss.

"_This is perfect!" _He thought, walking slowly over to the front of the command centre and placing his hand on the side, feeling the rough walls. This was it! Old America! He was actually touching it! He withdrew his hand and surveyed the surrounding area. He broke into a wide smile. Here it was, his masterpiece, laid out for him on a silver platter.

He walked for a while through the area, taking in the sights and stopping occasionally to search a building or to smell the air, breathing in the smell of sun-warmed stone. By the time the sun was setting, he had only managed to explore a small section of the vast complex. He was so engrossed in exploring he would have happily spend the whole night there, but the squawking of his radio pulled him back to reality.

"Mr Karling sir?" It was the voice of his assistant, Calla.

"What is it?" He snapped, irritated at being interrupted.

"Sorry, sir, but I've had a call from the President. He needs you back at the Capitol. He wants an update on the games." She said apologetically. She feared him, and with good reason. He was prone to violent outbursts.

"Fine. I'll be ten minutes." He said venomously, shoving the radio back into his pocket. He made a quick plan to find himself a less annoying assistant, and started back through the maze of military structures.

As he was making his way back to the hovercraft, his foot snagged on something, and he tripped, smashing with a clang onto the ground. He had landed on something hard and cold.

"_This is made of metal. That can't be right." _He thought, picking himself up dusting himself off. He had fallen onto a large circle of metal about ten meters wide. It appeared to be fixed to some sort of hinge that was attached to the ground. It looked like some sort of door.

"Is it supposed to open?" he wondered aloud. His brow furrowed in concentration, he gripped the underside of the circle and pulled upwards. Nothing happened. He tried again, with the same result.

"_There must be something to open somewhere else." _He mused. _"But what's underneath it?" _

Suddenly, it hit him. He knew exactly where the circular door lead, exactly what was hidden underground. Beneath the earth slept the spears of old America; bringers of fire and dust. The base probably housed hundreds of them, just waiting to be woken up, ready to split the Earth and fill the sky with ash and dust.

He ran as fast as he could back to the hovercraft, the plan for the arena already formed in his head. The tributes would fight here, above America. And they would awaken its nightmares.


	2. List of Tributes

**Wow, that's all the slots filled! Time to get started on the reaping, it should be done in a couple of days.**

Tribute List

_As per the President's instructions, I've written a short comment for every tribute._

District One

Female: Collette Declair, 18-_Typical of the 'career' tributes (why on earth do they call them that?) she knows how to use weapons and how to kill. Her good looks will be a big help in winning over sponsors, as will her personality. I look forward to seeing how she deals with this very special arena. _

Male: Glitz Solitaire, 18-_Rather like a coiled spring, Glitz always seems like he is ready to go berserk. A rebel at heart, Glitz will get revenge on the Capitol any way he can. I certainly hope this does not incur President Snow's anger._

District Two

Female: Caliah Cledyff, 18-_A dangerous individual with a fearsome bloodlust, Caliah is an exceptional fighter, and she knows it. She'll be causing a lot of trouble for anyone who isn't in her alliance. Actually, those who are allied with her better watch out as well..._

Male: Vincent Remus, 17-_Unusually for a District 2 tribute, he has little interest in the games. His parents have forced him to volunteer. His snarky attitude will do little to gain favour with the other tributes._

District Three

Female: Odessia Tempesta, 17-_This one is a real piece of work. Cold and calculating, she's capable of just about anything if she thinks it's the logical thing to do. Very intelligent, will likely discover the arena's secret quickly. Could this be used to our advantage?_

Male: Matthew Todd, 17-_Matthews brother was executed for speaking out against the Capitol. This affected Matthew deeply; he rarely speaks, and keeps to himself. His skills are considerable, however, and I believe he has a real chance of at least makingg it to the final eight._

District Four

Female: Alyeska Derevine, 17-_Sociable, will likely get on well with the other careers (again, why? is it because they are paid?). However, rather like our arena, she's hiding something nasty beneath the surface. Let's hope no one pisses her off. _

Male: Titus Aguirre, 17-_Unlike many in District four, Titus has no desire to shed blood. He is kind and would find it hard to deliver the killing blow to a tribute. He will likely find himself in the middle of a strong alliance. He will do anything to protect his friends. _

District Five

Female: Circe Ponty, 16-_Loving and nurturing, she sees the best in everyone. It will take a lot to break her. But we will. We know her secret. Better for all of us if it doesn't get out. _

Male: Borus Lexington, 17-_Violent, sadistic and completely without morals, Borus will l torture and brutally kill any tribute he comes across. It's going to take a lot to bring him down. If he's not stopped, he'll cut a bloody swath through his fellow tributes._

District Six

Female: Granya Eversore, 15-_Overconfident to the extreme, Granya is convinced that she is a skilled fighter. This is unfortunately not the case. Her survival skills are considerable though. Maybe her confidence will be enough to give her a fighting chance._

Male: Henry Green, 17-_Kind-hearted and clever, Henry is likely to go far in this arena. Unusually for a tribute in a lower district, he is skilled with certain weapons. As with Odessia, he is certain to discover what lies below this arena. What he will do when he finds out is anyone's guess._

District Seven

Female: Katri Williford, 15-_A shy individual, Katri might struggle to put her self out and befriend her fellow tributes. Her awkward but endearing personality might just get her attention from sponsors or other tributes. She would do well to find herself a strong alliance._

Male: Saul Arbor, 14-_Pragmatic, clever and sneaky, Saul may not be a fighter, but he always have a plan. He will likely be ignored by the other tributes, which is exactly what he wants._

District Eight

Female: Dolly Albany, 14-_Dolly is a sweet, caring girl who looks out for her friends and supports them as best she can. A follower rather than a leader, Dolly does what she is told (most of the time) She will no doubt be a good tribute to ally with. _

Male: Eyealle Dye, 14-_I'll put it bluntly: Eyealle is a slob. A lazy, disrespectful worm who relishes picking on the weak and runs whenever someone bigger than him challenges him. With little to no redeeming features, this boy is really going to have to try if he wants to survive for any length of time._

District Nine

Female: Rosemary Wolfe, 13-_Very brave, which will help massively in this arena. Especially after the trigger is activated. Maybe her young age will gain her sympathy from sponsors._

Male: Aric Veschi, 18-_I'm unsure whether or not Aric will last very long. He's clever, no doubt about that, very capable. He looks like he knows what he's doing, but he's certainly not a fighter. Perhaps his good people skills will win some of the tributes over? Everyone likes a charismatic leader..._

District Ten

Female: Taniece Davis, 16-_Taniece loves books and studying. Perhaps she's picked something up from her books to help her in the games. Although she may be slightly awkward, she is good with people, and hard to dislike. This will get her in a strong alliance, if she's lucky._

Male: Luther Hale, 16-_A true gentleman, Luther is chivalrous and respectful to all. This has gained him a great many friends, especially amongst the ladies of his district. His refusal to harm women will put him at a disadvantage in these games._

District Eleven

Female: Amanita Saxena, 15-_This one is very interesting. Cast out by her parents at a young age, she lived on the streets for two years until she was taken in by Ganik, a previous victor. There's a possibility he trained her as well, so she is definitely one to watch. _

Male: Cicero Avis, 18-_Cicero might appear tough, but he is terrified of the games, and is repulsed by the idea of killing. Not exactly the type of tribute who will excel in the games. _

District Twelve

Female: Sade Johnson, 13-_Sade is a grade A lunatic. Obsessed with blood and death, she would even go as far as to feast on the flesh of the dead to satisfy her lust for blood. She may cause problems for us if she isn't dealt with quickly._

Male: Gaime Turner, 14-_I feel sorry for Gaime. His...unpleasant experiences with other people have lead him to being paranoid and reclusive. I believe his paranoia will come in useful for the games. He is also extremely intelligent, which may benefit him more than skill with a weapon in this arena. _


	3. President and Gamemaker

**A/N: Just a little filler while I wait for tributes, I hope you enjoy it. As usual, reviews and appreciated.**

**Head gamemaker Lothaire Karling**

To most people in the Capitol, America is nothing but a faint echo of a civilization past, its people and its ideals long since dead, just another story to tell the children. But old world can never die. The flag we found is proof of that.

The scent of America is strong here, in this arena. I can feel it in the air. Smells of rust and ash, but there's something else. Hope. America had hope, hope of a better tomorrow, hope of peace. A nation built on it. It was more than Panem ever will be.

The city we built for the tributes is based on ancient designs I found it a book. We've made a city of the past for the children of the future to die in. Under my direction we scrawled old world symbols on the walls in red and blue paint, stars and stripes to show the tributes the way.

My arena is perfect. A piece of the old world, for all of Panem to see. The flag above it carries more weight than the flag of Panem ever will. Panem is an echo of the old world, an imitation of a nation long dead. It will die too, in time. I hope my arena will show them all that the past cannot be ignored. When America is awoken, they will all see.

I have to keep my views from the leadership. If I told them, they'd kill me, hang me for a traitor, a rebel. But I do not want the Capitol overthrown. I follow no nation. I simply want them to understand. Until the time is right, I'll keep quiet, play the obedient gamemaker. But eventually they will see that this is no ordinary arena.

I'm meeting with the president today. He's requested an update on the arena, wants to know when it'll be ready. He'll be pleased, I think. This president is different to the others I've seen. Stronger, smarter. I have to be careful with him. If he finds out the arena's secret then he'll have me killed, and then hand the project over to someone with less dangerous ideas.

His hovercraft is expected any minute. The ground crews are preparing for his arrival, laying out a pristine red carpet and draping the walls of the nearby buildings with huge silk banners bearing the eagle of Panem. Perhaps it's supposed to remind me that Panem is still present, even in this old world haven.

I stand on the landing pad with the rest of my assistants. They pace nervously about, jabbering to each other like a flock of birds.

"I do hope he isn't offended by my shoes, they are so frightfully dirty. Do you think he'll be angry? Oh I hope he doesn't sack me." My assistant says, bouncing up and down in front of me, her curly purple wig in danger of slipping off her head.

"No. He won't care about you at all. Now please, be quiet." I tell her. I can't stand these people. They're idiots, the whole lot of them. They have no respect for history and no understanding of anything beyond the latest fashions.

The Presidential hovercraft touches down at exactly three o'clock. It's an impressive vehicle; bigger than a regular hovercraft, it's been painted a deep crimson. Many gold stripes run down the length of it. On each wing is printed the seal of Panem.

My assistants all fall silent as the door opens with a faint hiss and President Snow strides out. He wears a simple black suit over a white vest and carries a black cane with a silver pommel at the top. Through my many meetings with him, I've worked out that he must be middle aged. His hair is beginning to grey, and his face is lined with wrinkles. This does not make him any less threatening, however. He radiates power and seems to command respect just by existing.

My assistants shrink back from him as he walks purposefully towards me.

He slowly looks me up and down, before smiling and holding out his hand. I shake it firmly and then bow. Anything to show him I'm not a threat.

Now that he's close to me, I notice the sickly smell emanating from him. It must be the rose on his lapel. Genetically modified no doubt, but why does it smell so strong? It's almost like he's trying to cover something up…

"Mr Karling. It's always a pleasure to see you." He says, his voice smooth and pleasant. He's trying to appear kind and make me lower my defences, so he can catch me off guard. That isn't going to happen.

"Likewise Mr President." I reply, smiling like the little slave he wants me to be.

"Shall we get straight down to business? I would like to discuss your arena. Could we perhaps talk somewhere more private?" His voice has a hint of threat to it.

"Of course, Sir, I'll take you to my study. If you'd like to follow me." I bow and gesture for him to follow me.

I offer him the only chair in my office, where he sits, looking up at me expectantly. "Well, aren't you going to tell me what I can expect from this arena?" He says.

"Oh, yes sir." I begin, putting on my best 'stupid head gamemaker' voice. "The arena is relatively simple really. The city, Hopeville, covers about five miles and will be where the tributes start off. They'll find a lot of interesting things hidden in the buildings. Weapons, supplies, that kind of thing. Things that aren't available in the cornucopia. The city is surrounded by a meadow that's full of wonderful things. Trees, flowers and deadly mutts, which I personally am very proud of. The military base will be hard to get to, but will contain lots of goodies and fantastic places for fights."

The President nods. "Very interesting. Tell me about the flags, Mr Karling."

I knew he'd ask about that. President Snow is smarter than most, he sees the symbols of America as a danger, calling back to a time when there were no games and no Districts. He doesn't want the Districts to see them as a symbol of rebellion.

"Ah, well sir, it's very simple. I just love how they look! The patterns are so pretty, and the colours are wonderful. And we thought seeing as we're using a flag from long ago, we should make our arena olden-days themed." I can't believe I had to say that. It disgusts me to trivialize the old world.

He smiles faintly, but then his eyes narrow. "Good. Stick to that story. It's a flag, nothing more. America is dead. And you will be too if you don't remember that."

So he knows. He knows about my interest in old America. But that changes nothing. He knows nothing about what lies under this arena, and what will be unleashed by the tributes. By the time he discovers the secret. It'll too late for him to do anything but to sit back and watch.

"Do you understand?" He asks, his voice full of venom.

"Yes sir, I understand." I reply, looking down at the floor in a gesture of submission.

"Excellent. Now, why don't you show me what sort of mutts you're putting in this arena?" He says, completely calm again, as if he hadn't just threatened to kill me.

"Well, I don't want to spoil it for you Mr President, but we have got something very special in the works. A completely new idea. We call them the tunnelers. And they are going to make the tributes' lives hell…"

**Questions**

** 1. What do you think of the head gamemaker?**

**2. What do you think the arena's secret is?**


	4. Sponsorship

**A/N: As I've not done an SYOT before, I'm a little iffy about the points system, so I hope it is fair. Just be warned, some items will be more useful than others, especially as the games go on…**

**Sponsorship **

How to earn points

Submit a tribute: 100 points

Follow the story: 50 points

Favourite the story: 50 points

Short review: 10 points

Long review: 30 points

Your tribute kills someone: 20 points

Sponsorship gifts

**Survival items**

Pack of crackers: 10 points

Pack of dried meat: 20 points

Water, half a bottle: 20 points

Loaf of bread (from the tribute's district): 30 points

Water, full bottle: 40 points

Map: 40 points

Bandages: 50 points

Flashlight: 60 points

Survival rations (includes enough supplies for three days): 60 points

First aid kit (includes bandages, rubbing alcohol, stitches and several antidotes): 200 points

Night vision glasses: 500 points

**Weapons**

Dagger: 50 points

Poison: 100 points

Set of 5 throwing knives: 200 points

Shortsword: 300 points

Sword: 400 points

Spear: 400 points

Axe: 400 points

Bow and 10 arrows: 500 points

Requesting weapons for the list is possible.

**Special items**

Flare gun: 500 points

NBC (Nuclear Biological Chemical) suit: 1000 points


	5. Interview with a Gamemaker

**A/N: Hello everyone, just a little bit of filler to keep you entertained. I've seen some other SYOTs do this, hopefully you all like it. I knw these chapters are quite short, but they will get longer once we start properly.**

**Head gamemaker Lothaire Karling**

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, I'd like you to put your hands together for a very, very special guest, Head gamemaker Lothaire Karling!" The crowd applauds wildly as Caesar Flickerman welcomes me onstage.

I bow slightly to the audience and take a seat next to Caesar.

This Caesar is a new talent, brought out for my games. He seems to be fairly young, but that might just be because of the extensive plastic surgery he's clearly had. He looks slightly unreal, like a child's doll. His skin is just a little too clear, his smile a little too broad. His teeth are abnormally white, so much so that when he smiles, the studio lights reflect off them like they're made of metal.

I will never understand why my fellow Capitol citizens insist on altering their bodies. All they are doing is lying, to themselves and to those around them. I never trust anyone who changes their appearance, all it means is that they have something to hide. I refuse to modify myself in any way.

"Wonderful to see you Mr Karling, thank you so much from taking time out of your busy schedule to come and talk to everyone here." He says shaking my hand and beaming, showing his unnatural teeth. "Aren't we all grateful?" He addresses the audience, who whoop and cheer in response.

All these people care about is blood. They are only here because I'm going to give them a taste of it.

Caesar quiets the audience and turns back to me.

"So, Lothaire. Can I call you Lothaire?"

I nod in assent.

"You are looking wonderful tonight, you certainly look like you mean business." He says. The audience cheer in agreement. "I really like your coat."

I'm wearing my usual outfit, a dark shirt and combat trousers, covered by a black leather longcoat with the American flag etched on the back. I had it made especially, cost me a month's salary. It was worth it though. Now I carry the old world with me wherever I go.

"Thank you Caesar." I reply. There's no need to say anything else. I don't need to be charismatic.

"Now, Lothaire, I've been told that this year's arena is a little bit different to what we're used to. Would you care to explain?" Caesar leans forward expectantly, as if I'm about to share a special secret with him.

This charade is unnecessary. All the people of the Capitol want to know is "Where will the tributes be dying this year?" They care nothing for me or the arena. It pains me to keep this up, but I do, if only to appease the President.

"Certainly Caesar. This year, the arena is inspired by the Old World. We discovered a military base from the days of America, and we decided that we'd base the games around it. We've constructed a pre-Panem city. We've used authentic American designs, so everything will be as it was before Panem."

"My my, that is interesting." Says Caesar. "Let's hope the tributes learn a little history!" The audience finds this very funny for some reason. I don't understand why. Teaching them history is exactly what I'll be doing.

"That was my intention. Most people in Panem today don't know their roots. I hope what they see in the arena will help them to understand." I say, unable to disguise the anger in my voice. I don't like being mocked.

"Ooh, cryptic. You head gamemakers do like to keep us guessing." Chortles Caesar. The audience laugh along with him.

I feign a smile. I'm beginning to regret agreeing to this interview.

After the audience have finished laughing, Caesar continues. "Have you got anything else you'd like to share with us? Maybe...I don't know, some clue as to what sort of mutts the tributes will be going up against?"

They always ask about the mutts. Panem wants to know what will be killing its children.

"Well, I can't say much. Not allowed. But I can tell you a bit about the tunnelers."

"Please do."

"They're a new creation. Made them especially for this arena. Different than anything you've seen before. More dangerous. They hunt in packs, can easily swarm large opponents. They're strong too, I've seen entire swarms of tracker jackers try to take them down with no effect at all. They make their roads underground, and can travel fast. They could come up anywhere in the arena. I don't envy the person who finds them."

Caesar looks impressed. "I can hardly wait to see these 'tunnelers' in action! I am even more excited for the games now, and I think everyone else is too. Are you excited?" He booms at the audience. The scream in response. These people are nothing but blood hungry animals.

Caesar lets the audience cheer and then raises his hands, and they slowly fall quiet. "I am so very sorry everyone, but we've run out of time. I'm sure Lothaire has a lot of work, what with getting everything ready for the games, so we won't keep him. Let's have one finish round of applause for head gamemaker Lothaire Karling! You've been great tonight Lothaire!"

I leave the stage to tumultuous applause. Although it may have been unpleasant, this interview was useful. I know now that the bloodlust of the Capitol will work to my advantage. When America wakes, everyone in Panem will be watching.

**Questions**

**1. What do you think the story is going so far?**

**2. Is there anything I can do to improve?**


	6. The Reapings

**A/N: So, this is the reaping. I've done it like this to avoid the story coming to a halt halfway through the reaping chapters, which seems to sadly happen to a lot of SYOTs. Don't worry though, I will be doing POVs of every character on the trains and there will be plenty of time to get the know the tributes well before the games start. I hope you all enjoy!**

When Panem rose from America's embers, it was different to how it is now. It was a young nation, taking its first breath, full of promise, full of hope. It had so much potential. Potential to be more than the old world ever was. But they did not know their history. They did not take their chance. That is why we have the Hunger Games. Because Panem allowed history to repeat itself. The Games are Panem's curse now, a mark of its failure.

Then why did I become a gamemaker? The answer is simple. To send a message. I can use the games to show Panem what happens when you ignore history. I will give Panem a chance to begin again. It all starts today, on reaping day. The tributes chosen today will bring everything together. They will wake America and change Panem forever.

On reaping day, the head gamemaker is expected to attend breakfast with the President, and watch the ceremonies live at his mansion. It's the President's way of keeping the head gamemaker close to him, so any rebellious tendencies can be quickly weeded out. I would prefer to watch the reapings alone, but with the President's trust in me fading fast, I have no choice. Soon, when the games begin, and I'll be able to stop bowing to Snow's every whim. Once I get into the control room, everything will change.

The people around the President's table are buzzing with excitement, talking animatedly about what sort of tributes we can be expecting this year.

"I am ever so excited to see what sort of volunteers we'll get this year. They are the best bit of the reaping! Volunteers are always my favourite. Especially the ones from the outer Districts, the backwards little dears are so brave!" says the man sitting to my left. His mouth is full of beef stew, and he sends small chunks of it flying onto the table when he speaks.

It takes all my strength not to get up and break his neck. It's painful enough sitting through the reaping, but to have to do it in the presence of such…idiots is too much to bear. Panem is ignorant. It makes me sick.

A thin woman with gaunt cheeks and sunken eyes (clearly a morphling addict) tries to engage me in conversation.

"Why do you look so glum?" She asks, giving me a patronising smile. "You should be pleased! You're going to see all the tributes who will be competing in your arena! Aren't you excited?"

I give her a cold look, narrowing my eyes and scowling. I will not waste words on these people. I do not understand why Snow, an intelligent man, would surround himself with these gluttons and fools. Perhaps it is because the Capitol is a city of gluttons and fools.

Unperturbed by my display of hostility, she continues speaking. "You should really try the food, the President went to all this trouble to get us this delicious meal and you haven't eaten a single bite! Why aren't you eating?"

"If you knew Snow's methods, you would not be eating his food either." I tell her. She doesn't trouble me again after that.

Finally, after an hour of watching the President's guests stuff their faces, the food is cleared away by unsmiling avoxes and the President calls for silence.

"If I could please have quiet, thank you. I hope you all enjoyed the food. " He says.

"Now we come to the reaping, which mark the start of the 40th annual Hunger Games. As you all know, the Hunger games are more than just entertainment. They are a reminder. A reminder that those who go against the interests of Panem will be punished. I pray that you all remember that."

His snakelike eyes are fixed on me, looking for a reaction. I do not give him one. If he thinks that threats will bring me back into line, then he is mistaken. It is too late to control me.

One of the avox servants presses a button on the wall and holographic emitters rise silently out of the table. They activate simultaneously, each projecting a clear picture of the District One town square. And so the reapings begin.

Both tributes from District One are volunteers. Not surprising, given their love of the games. The girl, Colette Declair, is pretty. Her eyes are the colour of a summer sky and her wild curly blonde hair looks good even though she has clearly made no effort to comb it. She will be popular amongst the shallow people here. She volunteers and strides up to the stage before the escort has even begun read the card. Confident. The crowd cheers her as she takes her place by the escort's side. She is obviously well loved by the people of her District.

The boy is intimidating. Large and muscular, he towers over most of the people surrounding him. His face is blank as he walks up to the platform. When asked his name he grunts "Glitz Solitaire." His voice betrays no feeling. The Capitol will have a hard time reading him.

The girl seems to be a typical 'career'. I don't think she will have any interest in history. As for the boy…I am unsure what to make of him. I will find out more about him, in time.

The image switches to District Two. A girl wearing black combat trousers and matching tank top (the uniform of Two's academy) practically screams. "I VOLUNTEER!" She exhibits a dangerous level of aggression, violently pushing aside the people stupid enough not to get out of way as she makes her way up to stand with the escort, who looks positively terrified.

The boy tribute, also a volunteer, looks bored and takes a long time to get to the front. The District escort beams at him. "And who are you dear?" she asks, in an overly cheery voice. "Vincent Remus. Dear." he says, imitating her chirpy tone. The corners of my mouth curl down. I despise sarcasm. Clearly this boy is full of it.

The tributes from Two seem to be classic examples of career tributes. The Capitol will love them. I will ignore them.

Next, comes District Three. Unlike their counterparts in One and Two, the crowd are not cheering. They remain completely still, staring up at the platform with resigned expressions. Their attitude towards the reaping is as bad as District Two's. They just stand there in silence, waiting. Accepting their fate, animals waiting to be slaughtered.

The escort calls out the name "Odessia Tempesta" and short, thin girl with harsh, angular features steps out of the seventeen year old section. She doesn't cry or even look surprised. If she's scared, she's hiding it well.

After a failed attempt to get the audience to clap for Odessia, the escort takes a name from the boy's bowl. "Octavian Bains!" he shouts, waving the slip of paper in the air. A young boy, who must only be about twelve, slowly makes his way forward. He's crying, begging for them not to take him.

As he is climbing the steps to the stage someone in the crowd shouts "I volunteer! I volunteer!" Unusual. Volunteers from non-career districts are few and far between. The volunteer is a morose looking boy with close-cropped blonde hair and blue eyes. The escort seems impressed, clapping the boy on the back. "Wow, that was so brave! Was that boy your brother?" She asks.

"No." The boy's answer is blunt and simple. He doesn't seem to enjoy speaking.

"Well, was he your friend?"

"No."

The escort looks puzzled as to why someone would volunteer for a stranger.

"That is so noble of you, sacrificing yourself for someone you don't even know! Now, before we take you to the justice building, I'll need your name." The escort says, jumping up and down on the spot with excitement. She must be so pleased to have a volunteer for once.

"Matthew Todd." The boy murmurs. He seems distracted, staring off into the distance, ignoring the escort's request to smile for the cameras. There is hate behind his eyes.

District Three has surprised me. Normally, their tributes are weak, scared and crying. They haven't had a victor since the boy who used electricity to kill his opponents. Their tributes this year seem capable. Their knowledge of technology will come in useful for my arena.

The picture changes, showing the packed town centre of District Four.

The girl calls out and moves gracefully onto the stage. She has the body of an acrobat, and moves like one too, seeming to glide up the steps. She smiles sweetly at the escort, who looks delighted at meeting such a friendly tribute. Manners matter a lot to the Capitol. One of the few things they care about.

"What a lovely smile, you are just wonderful! What's your name?" the escort asks.

"Alyeska Derevine. Nice to meet you." she replies. She looks and sounds genuinely happy, and waves cheerily at the crowd. I cannot tell whether this happiness is sincere. It's likely that she's hiding something. I will find out what soon enough.

The cameras zoom in on the escort, who reaches into the bowl and pulls out the name "Titus Aguirre!"

Titus barely reacts to his name being called. He has an air of confidence about him, seems capable, strong. No doubt he is an experienced fighter. He walks to the platform with his head held high and looks out over the crowd with a stoic expression.

"Can I say a few words?" he asks the escort, who nods and hands him the microphone.

"You know what I see in this crowd? The future of our District! I'm going to the arena with a smile on my face knowing that at least a hundred eighteen year olds have escaped the pain of the games and will be productive members of society! And, to my family, don't fear what's going to happen to me. I'm from District Four! I won't surrender or stop fighting!" Titus raises his fist in the air in triumph.

It's an impressive speech. The crowd goes wild, and it takes several minutes before they can be silenced. I hope that he is able to back up his words with actions. He'll need a lot more than pretty speeches to survive the games.

Tributes from District Five are often uninteresting. In most cases, they die in the bloodbath at the cornucopia.

The first name called for District Five is "Circe Ponty!" Circe is a slender girl with dark hair and green eyes. The camera zooms in on her face. She looks afraid. There are beads of sweat visible on her forehead, and her hands are shaking. She manages to compose herself before leaving her section, and comes forward with a determined look on her face. She must have realised that looking scared will get her nowhere in the games.

The boy tribute is a seventeen year old named Borus Lexington. Borus does not look like a nomal outer district tribute. He's tall, and looks tough. Made of sterner stuff than the usual District Five tributes. His muscles are impressive considering he comes from a district where food is so scarce. When his name is called, he looks happy. No…not just happy. Thrilled. I can tell this one is dangerous. The other tributes had better watch out.

The sky above the square of District Six is grey and miserable. Miserable, to match the people of the district. They look sullen, and with good reason. District Six tributes hardly ever make it past the bloodbath. We might as well just shoot their tributes the moment they are reaped. It would be kinder.

The girl tribute is a fifteen year old called Granya Eversore. Granya is a tall, thin girl with dark skin and black hair that is tied up in a ponytail. When her name is called, anger flashes across her face. She clenches her fists and grits her teeth, as if willing herself not to explode with rage. I understand her anger. She has been chosen to die for the entertainment of profligates., and she cannot do anything about it.

The boy's name is Henry Green. He's dressed like an old world soldier. He wears a green tank top with brown cargo shorts and brown combat boots. He has a tattoo on her back, a picture of some sort of vehicle. I recognise the image. I will have to take a closer look when he arrives here.

Henry shakes hands with Granya and both of them make to leave for the justice building, but Henry turns back at the last minute. He looks directly into the camera and shouts "One day, the past will return. And I want to see it happen here!"

For the first time today, I smile slightly. The past. I know what he means by that. This one is like me. He knows his history. I will be keeping a close watch on him.

The people around me are getting restless. They have grown tired of the reaping. These people want bloodshed. Without it, they lose interest quickly. Many of them have stopped watching altogether.

The tributes from District Seven look like typical outer District children. Thin and underfed. The girl's name is Katri Williford. She doesn't seem to be able to believe that her name has been called. She looks shocked and blinks rapidly, as if trying to wake herself from a dream. Unfortunately for her, this is one nightmare she will not be able to wake up from.

The boy, a thin fifteen year old named Saul Arbor, looks worried. On his way to the stage, he shouts "take care of my siblings!" to someone in the crowd. He's leaving younger siblings behind. Without him, it is likely that they will suffer. The community homes are cruel to young children.

Now it is the turn of District Eight. I am the only one still watching now. The rest of the guests are talking amongst themselves, or taking bets on which tributes will get to the final eight.

The tributes of District Eight are both very young. The girl, Dolly Albany, is fourteen. She looks frail and thin. Her cheekbones are very pronounced; they look like they could cut through steel. Dolly has looks like she has never had enough to eat.

The boy is almost the exact opposite of Dolly. His name is Eyealle Dye. Strange name. He's tremendously fat. His multiple chins wobble as he walks, and he seems to struggle getting up the steps; his breaths are so heavy that it seems like he might keel over dead from exhaustion at any minute. He gets to the top and smiles broadly, showing cracked yellow teeth.

"I…was…going to volunteer anyways so…thanks…thanks." He says, taking massive gulps of air, like the very act of talking exhausts him. "Thanks for calling my name. I'll win these games…no problem!"

This boy is disgusting filth. His profligacy needs to be punished. If Eyealle doesn't die from the effort of walking to the justice building, he will almost certainly die in the bloodbath. I hope for his sake that his death is quick.

District Nine is one of the least popular Districts. Its tributes are often weak. In the 40 years since the start of the Hunger games, there have only been three victors from District Nine. Maybe this year, there will be a fourth. If there is a victor at all.

The escort looks unhappy to be working in such an obscure District. She quickly reaches into the bowl and pulls out a slip of paper, opening it with such force that it tears in two. She has to hold the two pieces together to read it.

"Rosemary Wolfe." She says in a bored voice

A slender girl with sandy blonde hair and tanned skin steps out of the thirteen year olds section. She does not look scared. It is unusual for one so young to come forward without crying. She must be very brave.

The escort congratulates Rosemary in a sarcastic manner and then picks the boy's name from the bowl.

"Aric Veschi."

When Aric comes forward, he looks calm. He quickly strides to the stage, where he stands, staring into the distance. A child in the crowd is calling his name.

"Aric, where are you going? Aric? Come back!" It's a small boy, probably Aric's brother. He doesn't understand what is happening. Aric does not respond to his brother's cries. Better for him that he keeps quiet. Leaving siblings behind is often hard for tributes. Better that he doesn't let anyone know that he is upset.

The tributes from Nine seem interesting. If they survive the bloodbath, then they may have a part to play in waking America. Maybe history will remember their names.

The girl tribute from Ten is sixteen year old Taniece Davis

Her expression is one of pure terror. Her brown eyes are wide, and look even wider magnified in her oversized glasses. She begins to cry silently. Her parents are crying too. The camera fixes on them, huddled in each other's arms, sobbing. It is because of scenes like this that I am bringing America back. America will burn away this injustice.

Luther Hale, the boy tribute, seems to be in better control of his emotions. He comes to the stage with a smile on his face. He waves to the camera and tosses a lock of dark blonde hair from his eyes.

"Don't worry ladies, I'll be back soon!" He says, addressing the crowd.

Several girls cheer in response to this.

A ladies man. Wonderful. I have no time for his type of people. He might make friends with some of the female tributes, but I can't see him doing anything spectacular.

District Eleven provides two relatively noteworthy tributes.

Amanita Saxena, the girl, seems enraged by having her name called. She looks up at the escort with hate-filled eyes and swears loudly. The escort looks shocked that someone would dare to curse on live television. I think the girl has every right to be angry. I would be angry if I was chosen to die. I can tell by her face that Amanita has been through a lot. She will be going through a lot more in the weeks to come. However bad her life in the District was, the arena will be a hundred times worse.

Like Amanita, the boy tribute is dark skinned and muscular. He seems strong, looks like he's accustomed to manual labour. His looks are deceiving however. Although he appears to be strong, he falls apart when his name is called. He seems to freeze. His mouth is wide open, as if he is trying to scream. But he is silent. Fear has taken away his voice. If he does not master his fear, he will not survive long in the games.

Finally, we come to District Twelve. I'm glad the reapings are nearly over. I dislike them deeply. Not because they are boring, but because of what they represent. The people of Panem allowing their children to be taken away from them. The people of the old world would not have allowed it to happen.

The escort for District Twelve is a small fat man with long bright red hair and a shiny pink suit with tie studded with gemstones. He looks ridiculous. I do not understand why anyone would choose dress like that. It's another example of the insanity of Panem.

He calls the first name.

"Sade Johnson!"

Sade doesn't look like much. She's short, scrawny, weak. Her dark brown hair has been tied into two pigtails which hand on either side of her head. She appears to be just an innocent little girl. But there is something not quite right about her. She screams and cries all the way up to that stage. She calls for her mother and tears at her hair, screaming so loudly that the escort has to jam his fingers in his ears.

There is something wrong with Sade. Her tears do not seem genuine. I'm sure she's pretending to cry. She's trying to appear weak, make the other tributes ignore her. When their backs are turned, she'll be ready to strike.

When the escort reads out the second name, he has to shout to be heard over Sade's screams.

"Gaime Turner! GAIME TURNER!"

Gaime is unusually pale for someone from District Twelve. He is skinny and small. This can probably be attributed to malnutrition. There is never enough to eat in District Twelve. Starvation is a bigger killer than disease. Gaime has done well to keep himself alive. He walks with his back slightly hunched, and winces when he has to climb the steps. His back seems to be causing him pain. This may cause trouble for him in the arena.

With a click, the projectors shut off and slide back into the table. At last the reapings are over.

I am pleased with what I have seen. This year's crop of tributes are very interesting. Most of them do not seem suitable for initiating the trigger, but a few of them have caught my eye. I will have to watch them closely during training, and find a way to make them understand what they will need to do. I will push them in the direction of America.

I have the board. I have the pieces. Now, the game begins.

**Questions**

**1. Which tributes do you think seem to have the best chance of winning?**

**2. What did you like about it?**

**3. Is there anything i can do to improve? (I struggled a lil bit on this chapter so it might be a bit bad in places)**

**Also, I am considering doing a short chapter detailing America's destruction. Would any of you like to see this?**


	7. The Board is Set

**A/N: Hello everyone! i'm back! I am so so sorry for the lack of updates, university is a challenge! I will be able to start uploading at a much more regular basis now, so I hope you all stick around to see this story finished. remember folks, reviews make me happy!**

**Collete Declair-District One**

As I watch District One disappear over the horizon, I find myself wondering whether I'll see it again. But only for a moment.

"_Of course I'll see it again"_, I think. There's no point in worrying about the games. I'm well trained, strong, and I have Mathias waiting for me back home. Hopefully we can get married before the victory tour.

I yawn and sink into the soft, velvety seat and take a sip of my hot chocolate. I'd prefer something a little stronger; something to celebrate my engagement, but I guess it wouldn't look good if they were seen giving us alcohol. The audience would be shocked.

The next couple of weeks are going to be insane, and I'm going to make sure I enjoy every minute. What's the point of worrying? I'll sit back, enjoy the ride and hopefully meet some interesting people. Of course, I'll have to kill them, but there's nothing I can really do about that.

I haven't seen much of my District partner. He doesn't seem the talkative type. He didn't even shake my hand when the escort introduced us, and when we were ushered onto the train he disappeared into another carriage, with a look of pure rage on his face. I sort of understand why he's angry; there is a very real possibility he'll die in the arena. I just hope he stops being so rude. I cannot stand people being rude to name. If he doesn't start showing me some respect, I might have to have a 'little chat' with him.

After about an hour, where I do nothing but lounge around eating incredibly rich food, my District escort hops into the room smiling broadly. He's a small man, with a pallid white face and dark eyes shadow that makes him look almost like a vampire. His hair, also black, is cut short.

"I hope you've had enough time to rest dear, your mentor told me to I've you some time before we discussed strategy. Would you like to come and meet her?" He says, smiling at me with creepily shiny teeth.

I almost forgot that they gave us mentors. I wonder who mine will be. There have been so many victors from District One, it could be any one of them.

"Yeah, I'll come and meet her. Who's mentoring for us this year?" I ask.

"Well, this year we've got Elisa Palalagios and Christos Bergham. Elisa will be mentoring you." He replies.

From what I've seen of Elisa on TV she looks like someone I want mentoring me.

She won her games by strangling the last remaining tribute. I don't want to get on the wrong side of her.

The escort leads me to the dining car to meet my mentor. To my surprise, Glitz is already there. He's sitting in sullen silence opposite Christos and Elisa, who seem to be ignoring him.

Elisa greets me as I walk in.

"Ah, Colette! Come and sit down. We were just discussing the arena with Glitz here. Say hello to her Glitz!" She says, giving Glitz an exasperated look.

"Hey!" I say, taking a seat next to Glitz.

He looks up at me briefly, nods, and then continues scowling at his shoes.

I've already decided Glitz and I aren't going to get on. If he can't even be polite to me, then I do not want to team up with him in the arena.

**Vincent Remus-District Two**

"Okay Vincent, to get started I need to know if you know how to use a weapon." My mentor asks.

"Oh no, I don't know how to use a weapon at all! It's not like I've done literally nothing but train since I was ten." I reply. What a stupid question. He knows very that I can use weapons.

He rubs his forehead, like he's trying to ward off a headache.

"Look, I'm trying to help you for god's sake. If you want to win, you need to listen to me. This arena isn't going to be a picnic."

"Oh, I thought it was! You know, because there are baskets of food and everything!" I'm losing my patience with this idiot. I don't his need help. I don't want any of this.

My mentor finally snaps. He moves forward in a flash and grabs my collar, pulling me close to him. I can smell the alcohol on his breath.

"Fine, seeing as you have a death wish, I'll just shut up and go and speak to Caliah. At least she's taking this seriously." He spits.

"Just don't come crying to me when you starve to death because you couldn't be bothered to listen to my advice!"

He releases me and storms out, slamming the door so hard that it causes a light fitting to fall and smash onto the table, covering the food with shards of glass, likely improving its taste considerably.

Finally, I can have some peace and quiet.

I sit back and stare out of the window. Lush green forest, as far as I can see. The train is going so fast, it's nothing but a green blur, like a streak of paint on a blue canvas. I wish I could be painting now.

I reach into my pocket and pull out my paintbrush, twirling it in my fingers. It's just a simple brush; not one of my best, but it's sturdy. I've had it with me for as long as I can remember. The brush head is frayed, so it's basically pointless, but I still like keeping it around. I used to call it my 'lucky paintbrush', but it doesn't seem to have made me any luckier.

Still, it's not entirely useless. Maybe I'll be able to stab someone with it.

Perhaps when I get home I'll finally be able to paint without distraction. I think I'll dedicate my first one to my mother. That would piss her off to no end. If I'm lucky, it might give her a heart attack.

**Odessia Tempesta-District Three**

I've calculated that my District partner will be one of the first to die. He's pathetic. Weak. He can't even muster up the courage to speak, so I doubt he'll be any good at fighting. The bastard hasn't said a thing since his name was called. He just stares into space, frowning deeply, with his fists tightly clenched

He's an idiot, letting his emotions get the better of him. Emotions get you killed.

I'm not worried about the games. Worrying is illogical. My chances in the arena are good. I've studied the hunger games carefully, so I know what kind of people I'll be facing. The careers will be easy to deal with; all I have to do is avoid them. They'll kill each other off eventually. They always do. The idiots never seem to realise that teaming up with people who want to kill you is illogical and stupid. They deserve to die.

The non-career tributes will die quickly. They always do. None of them will be as smart as me.

I haven't bothered to speak to my mentor. She's an idiot, and doesn't deserve my time. When she introduced herself she actually tried to comfort me! Who the hell does she think I am? Why the hell would I need comforting?

I work better on my own anyway. I'm the only one I can trust to do things properly.

I've already started to draw up a plan for the arena. I've worked out that this arena will probably be a city. We haven't had a city arena in years, and the people of the capitol will be fed up for forests and deserts.

If it is a city, there will be plenty of buildings to hide in, and lots of places to set traps. If I'm careful (which I am) I can avoid confrontation and kill the other tributes without even having to come close to them.

Before I reach the capitol, I think I'll watch the reapings. I need to know who I'll be killing.


	8. Ending and Beginning

**A/N: Just a little bonus chapter to say sorry for being away for so long. I plan to do the tribute chapters staggered, so 1,2 and 3 get the trains rides, 4,5 and 6 get the arrival at the Capitol, 7,8 and 9 get meeting the stylists and 10, 11 and 12 get the chariot rides (along with some other tributes i will select)**

No one knew who launched the first missile. Some thought it was the Americans, as a last act of defiance against their enemies. Others said it was the Europeans, mistakenly thinking that they could destroy their foes in a single strike. In the end, it didn't matter. There would be no one left to remember.

The minute the first missile took to the skies, defence systems around the world went into overdrive. A single blip on the radar became a thousand, as all across the world the silos were opened and the missiles rose into the sky.

Across the earth they flew, like migratory birds, crossing paths, soaring in great multitudes from West to East and East to West. The first missile to come down impacted at approximately 2:00pm.

It came down on New York City. There was a blinding flash of light, and a great heat that rose forward and consumed the city in fire. People, buildings, vehicles, nothing could withstand it. It was if the fires of hell had come to earth. Anyone caught out in the open was reduced to dust, the shadows burned into the walls the only sign they ever existed. Buildings crumbled and fell, crushing those who cowered in basement shelters. The firestorm grew, spreading out like a wave, burning buildings, instantly killing anyone who had survived the initial blast. The fires burned for days, feeding on the air. The few who attempted to douse the fires were suffocated as the Oxygen was ripped from around them. The landmarks that had stood in New York for hundreds of years were wiped away in an instant. The statue of liberty was turned to dust. What once was a sign of hope and life became a charred mass of rubble.

The rest of the world suffered the same fate of New York. London was decimated, Beijing was wiped off the map. No country was spared. The whole world was consumed by fire. The ash and rubble from the mass destruction was thrown up into the air, blotting out the sun and subjecting all the world to perpetual darkness. The earth cracked and buckled. Whole continents shifted and vast swathes of land crumbled and fell into the boiling seas.

Finally, the fires died. Survivors of the great burning emerged from the rubble, looking out over devastated cities and blackened countryside. Then the rains began to fall. They fell for weeks. Huge black droplets of water, falling over a dead planet. Those who tried to drink the rain died slowly, poisoned by the particles of radiation that had been thrown into the air. The rain poisoned the very Earth, ensuring no plants would grow for a thousand years. The last vestiges of humanity cowered in cellars and in ruined buildings, praying for the rain to stop. But there was no reprieve, even after the poison rain.

Because then the dust fell. It came down like a suffocating blanket, settling over everything, getting into clothes, hair, mouths. Thousands died from radiation poisoning. The few that survived the dust were left to scrabble around in the ruins for supplies, fighting over tins of food.

But humanity was not destroyed. Before the war, many had predicted the end of the world, and hid themselves deep beneath the Earth. In fortresses of steel and stone, they endured the nightmare on the surface, awaiting the day when they would return and start the world again.

There were a multitude of these bunkers under America. Some held the remnants of the government and army, some held great scientists. They slept underground, frozen artificially by experimental technology.

It was from one of these bunkers that Henry Vanning came. He had been a no-name government official, pushed into the bunker at the last minute to replace an army officer who had died. During his time there, he had worked his way up the ranks and became one of the principal figures in the bunker. After several years, Henry grew tired of the cold metal walls and decided that they should cast out and begin to rebuild society. A vote was taken, and it was agreed upon that they wold open the bunker. When the survivors emerged, they were greeted by a blackened wasteland, with stunted trees and cracked, dilapidated buildings. Nothing grew, and the only life was hideous mutated insects. A true hell on earth.

But he did not allow this to stop him. Within a year, he had a functioning community, with water, power and light. Under his direction, the bunker's scientists found a way of purging radiation from the soil.

The first crop grown was wheat, which was made into bread. The first radiation-free food grown in the surface world. There was a special significance attached to that first loaf of bread. It was a symbol of rebirth, and of perseverance. It seemed only fitting that they name their new nation to reflect that. And so the survivors of the bunker named their new republic "Panem" and elected Henry as leader.

Under the leadership of Henry, more bunkers were found and opened, swelling the ranks of Panem. A shining new city was built, a place of technology and power. From this city the entirety of North America was reclaimed. Henry was a hero. He had taken America from being a decimated wasteland to a new, brave country. The only way was up. He was Romulus. And Panem was his Rome.


	9. Continuum

**A/N: Hello lovely readers! I know you all really want to read some tribute chapters. They are coming really soon I promise. In the meantime, here's another 'in the past' chapter to keep you entertained. **

Henry Vanning started at the papers on his desk, his brow furrowed in concentration. He couldn't seem to quite grasp what he was reading. There had been…worrying developments. Things were going wrong. Everything he had worked for was in danger of being unravelled. He was losing control.

Sighing deeply, he ran a hand through his unkempt blonde hair. His head was beginning to ache again. There was nothing he could do about that. The painkillers stopped having an effect long ago. He just had to live through it now. Although he wasn't sure if he would live much longer.

Henry checked his watch. Ten minutes past midnight. He would have liked to go to bed, but sleep was a luxury he couldn't afford. He slowly got up and walked towards the large window the lined the east wall of his office. It offered a breath-taking panoramic view of the city. His city. It was beautiful. The buildings gave off a bright light that cut through the night sky like a spear, overpowering the pale stars. Down below he hear the rumbling of thousands of cars making their way through the city like insects. He could see that distant shapes of people on the streets, coming out of theatres and bars, and walking together in groups. The faint sounds of laughter trickled up to his window. He closed his eyes for a moment, and allowed the sounds of the city to wash over him.

It all seemed so peaceful, so perfect. But the serenity of the Capitol was deceptive, for throughout Panem, rebellious sentiment was spreading like the plague. The Districts would soon be in open war against the Capitol.

"_How the hell did I let this happen?" _Henry thought. He screwed up his eyes and rested his head against the window. He had worked so hard to rebuild. Ever since he left the bunker, he had done nothing but work. He had devoted his entire life into Panem. Had it all been for nothing?

"Shit always has to go wrong." He said to the empty room with a humourless laugh.

The trouble with the Districts had started with the election of the new President, Aurelius Trajan. President Trajan was a cruel man. Remorseless and pragmatic, he had decided that the Districts were Panem's weak link, the millstone around its the neck. He turned the Districts into glorified slave plantations, using their citizens are cheap labour to feed the limitless greed of the Capitol.

Henry had tried to tell himself on many occasions that it wasn't his fault, and that there was nothing he could have done to stop Trajan. But he knew that wasn't the case. He still had influence; hell, he founded the entire damn country! He could have forced Trajan to step down. But instead he just stood by while a madman destroyed everything he had been working towards.

Frankly, he was surprised to be alive at all. Trajan saw enemies everywhere. His political opponents had a habit of vanishing mysteriously. Trajan disliked Henry, he had from the start. He saw him as a threat to his presidency, and a potential figurehead for rebellion. It was only Henry's fame that stopped Trajan from killing him.

He had no doubt that when he died Trajan would wipe all mention of him from the history books. Over time his memory would fade, and he would become nothing more than a myth. He had long since accepted this. There was no point in trying to fight it.

But there was still something he could do. Henry reached into his pocket and pulled out the key. He weighed it in his hands, running his fingers along the length of it. The metal was rough and rusted. Falling apart. It would not last much longer. That didn't matter. He only needed to use it once.

He left the window and crossed over to the bookcase on the opposite side of the room. It took him only seconds to find what he was looking for. He pulled out a copy of "The Decline and fall of the Roman Empire". Behind it was a hollow where the back of the bookcase should have been.

Henry reached into the hollow and pulled out a small metal box. It was old, but remarkably well preserved. It was painted a deep green, and had a white star emblazoned on the lid. Thin black writing underneath it read "The President of the United States of America."

Henry placed the key in the lock and took a deep breath.

"_Why the hell am I doing this?" _He thought. "_Why did I let it come to this?"_

He closed his eyes and turned the key.

With a click the lid folded back. Henry thought it almost seemed anti-climactic. He had half expected a blinding flash of light, or at least puff of smoke. Inside was a small strip of plastic, about the size of an old-world credit card. It looked perfectly innocuous, but its appearance was deceptive. It had the power to change Panem forever. Henry carefully removed it from the box. He had to be gentle. The card was old. The slightest scratch could prevent it from working. It might be broken already…No. He refused to believe that. It had to work.

He gingerly placed the card in a slot in his computer. The computer was a pre-war model they dragged out of the bunker; an ugly metal box with the words "Bunker Surgent Eight" stamped on the side in white lettering. It was the only functioning Old World computer left in Panem. It was the most valuable thing in Henry's office. And the most dangerous. If Trajan ever found put what it was capable of…

There was a faint whir and his screen flickered and changed, displaying a wall of text against a deep green background.

**Warning! Satellites offline. Communications unavailable. **

**-Request Nuclear Launch Codes. (System error. Unable to contact Ashton silo. Launch not possible) **

- **Presidential** **Bunker Control**

**-Emergency Broadcast System**

Henry stopped briefly, his hand hovering over the keyboard. "_Too late to go back now." _He thought. He selected the Bunker control option. The screen changed, showing a single sentence.

**-Begin continuum protocol**

This was it. He counted to ten and hit the enter key.

-**Continuum protocol engaged. **

He'd done it. The continuum protocol had been activated. Ulysses was coming.

**Questions**

**Do you like the "in the past" segments**

**What do you think of Henry?**

**What do you think the continuum protocol is? And who is Ulyssses?**


	10. The Pieces are Selected

**A/N: Well, here we go. I know this chapter is a little unorthodox, but hey, it's important to the story. I hope you all enjoy! Updates should be getting a little more regular now, thanks for sticking with the story.**

**Titus Aguirre-District Four**

Our train arrives in the Capitol just after lunch, and it seems the entire city is here to greet us. The station is packed with thousands and thousands of people, all of them straining to get a look at the tributes exiting the trains. People are actually stepping off the platform and onto the tracks, walking alongside the train and craning their necks to try and see inside the carriages.

They're like excitable children, laughing and jumping up and down with excitement. I can't help but stare at them. Their clothes are amazing. Say what you like about the people of the capitol, they certainly are fashion savvy.

I stand in front of a window and wave to the crowd, smiling and blowing a few kisses here and there. They love that, responding by clapping and cheering and taking pictures. I quite like it really. I makes me feel like I'm famous. They'll probably be just as happy when I'm brutally killed, but hey, we'll get to that later.

I'm interrupted by my mentor, who storms into my carriage, hitting a button on the wall that closes all of the shutters, shrouding us in darkness and blocking out the crowd.

"Titus. There you are. Listen, something really weird is going on." He says urgently.

What could be bothering him so much?

"What is it?" I ask.

"The fucking head game maker is here. He's at the station!" He says, his eyes flitting around the carriage, as if he's worried the Gamemaker will emerge from a under a table.

I don't know why he's so scared. Even if the Head Gamemaker doesn't usually come down to the station, it can't be a bad thing. Maybe he just wants to meet us all. I'm certainly not worried, it might be a good opportunity to make a new friend.

I must look too relaxed, because my mentor gives an exasperated sigh and clenches his teeth

"Titus, this guy is a nutcase. You have to be careful around him." He hisses. "I asked him what the hell he was doing here, and it turns out he wants to see all of the tributes in person, said it was something to do with the arena. If he asks you anything for God's sake don't be rude."

I don't understand why he thinks I'll be rude. There's no reason for me to hate the Head Gamemaker.

"I'll be careful." I sigh.

"Good. I'm going to go and find Alyeska. You'd better get ready to go." He leaves, realsing the window shutters on his way out. The crowd outside cheer and surge forward to the window, eager to get another look at me.

He returns a few minutes later with my District partner Alyeska. She looks quite good. Her dark lashes accentuate her bright green eyes. She built like a gymnast, and although her muscles aren't quite as obvious as mine, she looks powerful. I wouldn't want to get in a fist fight with her.

"You ready for this?" I ask her.

"Hell yeah. I'm finally gonna to find out what it's like to be famous."

Five white-armoured peacekeepers with their faces covered by black helmets escort us off the train and out of the station. They encircle us, making sure the crowd milling around us doesn't get too close. It seems a bit unnecessary really. I don't think we need protecting, and if the Capitol are trying to scare me by shoving guns in my face it's not working.

Alyeska seems to be a bit put off by the peacekeepers. I think she wanted to talk to people in the crowd.

She taps one of the peacekeepers on the shoulder. He whips round, his hand shooting to the pistol at his side. Paranoid. Alyeska smiles sweetly at him. If I could see his face, I'm sure he'd be scowling.

"Why are you here?" She asks "I think we can find our way out without help."

"We aren't permitted to speak to tributes."

"Are you a robot?" She asks, giggling slightly.

The peacekeeper mutters something that sounds like "District scum."

Alyeska opens her mouth to retaliate, but she doesn't get the chance.

"Would you care repeat that comment soldier?"

It's the Head Gamemaker.

He cuts an intimidating figure. He's tall, and has substantial muscles. Unlike most people in the Capitol, he has dark skin. His face is gaunt; his hollow cheeks and sunken eyes make him look almost like a corpse. It doesn't look like he's seen the sun in a while. His dark brown hair has been styled into dreadlocks by someone with only a vague notion of what dreadlocks are supposed to look like. He doesn't seem to have spent much time on his appearance. Strange, considering he comes from the Capitol.

"Move aside." He pushes the peacekeepers out of the way and stands facing me and Alyeska. He stares at us in silence for a while, like he's sizing us up.

I might as well try to

"Hey. I'm Titus." I say, moving to shake his hand. He doesn't move.

"Rude." Alyeska says, rolling her eyes theatrically.

"Introductions aren't necessary. I've read your files." The gamemaker rasps. His voice is deep and guttural, like rolling thunder.

"What are you doing here if you already know who we are?" Alyeska asks. There is a dangerous hint of anger in her voice.

"Had to see you in person. I need to ask you a question."

"What question?" I ask. I don't want to start anything with this guy, but he's beginning to piss me off.

"Are you prepared to kill?"

"Of course I fucking am! I'm in the games! What do you think I was going to do to the other tributes? Make them tea? Alyeska snaps. She has quite a temper.

"No. Not kill other tributes. Kill a nation."

Kill a nation? What the hell is he talking about?

"We're in the games to kill tributes. You know, TRIBUTES." Alyseka says, speaking slowly and deliberately, like she's trying to explain a very simple concept to a stupid child.

"Didn't think you'd understand. You will, in time. So will all of Panem."

With that he strides away. Alyeska starts forward, attempting to follow him, but I hold her back. The Gamemaker already seems to have it in for us. I don't want to make things worse.

**Circe Ponty-District Five**

I was sick several times on the journey to the Capitol. I think they're getting suspicious. I can make excuses, but sooner or later, they'll find out, and I don't want to think about what'll happen to the baby if they do.

My District partner Borus seems to think my 'illness' is hilarious. The last time I had to run to the bathroom to throw up he called me 'pathetic'. I'm not going to let him get me down, but I think it's probably best I stay away from him. He scares me a little.

We arrived in the Capitol about half an hour ago, but we've been told to stay on the train. The tributes from different districts aren't allowed to leave the station at the same time, and there's been some sort of holdup at the exit. Our escort said it's something to do with the Head Gamemaker.

I don't want to attract any attention, so I'm sitting in the last carriage of the train, away from the prying eyes of the crowd. They make me sick to my stomach. It's not enough that I've been sent to die in the games, I have to have an audience as well.

I find myself fiddling with the engagement ring my boyfriend Michael gave to me before I left. It's nothing like the jewellery they have in the Capitol, just a simple band of metal with a small red gemstone in the middle. I think it's pretty though. He must have saved up several month's wages for it.

He was crying when he gave it to me. He said he was saving it for after the reaping. He thought we'd both make it through. I didn't tell him about the baby. Better he doesn't know. It would only hurt him more.

I force myself to stuff the ring in my pocket. I have to stay focused. If I let myself get upset, then there's no chance I'll win.

On the journey here my mentor made me and Borus go over our strategies. Borus' was quite simple. Kill everyone. Including me. At least he was kind enough to warn me what he wanted to do. I know to stay away from him now. As for my strategy, I'm really not sure. I think my best bet is making friends with some of the other tributes.

After what seems like ages, my District escort, Amelia, enters my carriage.

"There you are, I've been looking all over for you." She sounds like a fussy mother.

"Sorry. I was just resting for a bit. Are we going now?"

"Yes dear, in a minute. I'm afraid there's something you have to do first."

"What is it?" I say, unable to keep the worry out of my voice.

"Oh nothing too bad dear, the Head Gamemaker just wants to have a little chat with you. He's already spoken to Borus. They didn't really get on." She giggles slightly. "I'll just show him in."

She leaves the carriage, and returns a minute later with the Gamemaker. He doesn't look like he

I smile at him respectfully. He doesn't reciprocate my gesture. He just stands there, staring at me.

"I'm sorry." He says.

"Sorry for what?"

"For you. And your child. This shouldn't have happened. Didn't want people like you to be a part of this. Wasn't part of the plan. Ironic." He says coldly.

How does he know? I haven't told anyone about the baby!

"Thanks. Good to know someone here cares." I mutter.

"You shouldn't thank me. I built the arena. You should hate me. Hate what I stand for."

I don't know what to say to this. I suppose he's right, I should hate him. He built the arena 23 kids will be dying in. He works for President Snow.

"Nothing I can do but continue. Can't save you, or your child. History will judge me for it, maybe.

"Is there anything you can do to help? For the baby?" there are tears in my eyes now.

"I can give you words, for all the good they will do. America sleeps under the arena. When it wakes, there will be no escape. Walk away from it all. Let history take its course. Stay away from Ashton. Good luck." Without a second glance, he leaves the carriage.

His 'advice' was too cryptic to really be of use, but I know one thing for sure. Something very big is going to happen in this arena. And if I want to survive, I need to find out what it is.

**Henry Green-District Six**

I recognise the flag on the Gamemaker's back. I've seen it before, printed on the side of the tank my grandfather keeps hidden in a dusty warehouse in our District. He told me it was the last one in existence. He used to regale me with stories about the country that made them. America. Every Saturday after work, we'd come to the warehouse, sit up on the tank and talk about the Old World.

It's strange to see the symbol of America in the Capitol. They normally try to ignore America's existence completely. My Grandmother was fired from her job as a teacher for telling her students about it. So why would the Head Gamemaker be wearing the flag?

The Gamemaker must have noticed my recognition. He tilts his head to the side and squints at me. His face shows no expression, but his eyes are burning with curiosity.

"You know my flag." He says.

I hesitate. I don't want to reveal too much to him, there's always a danger he's trying to trick me. "Yeah, I've seen it before." I say carefully.

"I saw your tattoo. I know what it is. Old world war machine."

I instinctively jerk my head round look at my left shoulder, where the green tattoo of the tank is clearly visible. I shouldn't have worn my tank top. I thought it'd be safe. Not many people know what a tank even looks like. Most people think that the tattoo is some kind of abstract art.

"Do you know of America?" He asks. "You carry one of its symbols."

He's not trying to trick me, I can tell.

"Yeah. I know what America is. It came before Panem. It burned during the Great War. It was different to Panem. It was better. There weren't any games. People didn't starve." I say, looking down at my feet. It makes me sad to think that a place like that was destroyed.

The Gamemaker just stares at me. The corners of his mouth are twitching slightly. Is he…smiling? It's hard to tell. He must not do it often, he's clearly out of practice. He pauses for a moment to study me, and then continues speaking.

"You know your history. America sleeps under Panem. Its giants waiting under the earth. Under the arena. Waiting to be sent home. You know what I speak of."

_America's giants_. What could he mean by that? I don't remember my grandfather telling me anything about giants. Why is the Gamemaker telling me this though? What does America have to do with the arena?

"Our goals are the same. We are the same. You can help me."

"Help you with what?" I ask cautiously. I'm beginning to think that he isn't completely sane. He might know of America, but he seems…dangerous.

"We can show Panem what it is to ignore history. We can show them the fury of the Old World. Destroy the symbol of Panem. Start again. Give us another future." He says, a look of triumph on his face.

I know what he wants me to do. There's something hidden in the arena. Something that will change everything. And he wants me to activate it. It seems like he wants me to teach Panem a lesson of some sort. I don't know exactly what will happen if I do what he says. It might hurt my family. They've already suffered enough. I couldn't put them through more pain just because the head Gamemaker wants to make a point.

But then again, my family are already hurting because of Panem and the Capitol. It's the Capitol's fault I'm here. If the Head Gamemaker wants to me bring back America, then I want to help him.

"I'll do it." I say quickly.

"Good. Follow the flags. They will show you the way. I'll be watching you closely."

**Questions**

**What do you think of the tributes?**

**Do you think the Gamemaker has good intentions, or is he truly insane?**

**What sort of traps/mutts would you like to see in the arena? If you post a good one, I might include it in the story!**


End file.
